


All for you

by QueerQuaking



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bruce is of legal age, Choking, Degradation, Episode: s05e07 Ace Chemicals, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Fix-It, Light Sadism, M/M, Masochism, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 20:25:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerQuaking/pseuds/QueerQuaking
Summary: In which Jeremiah gets off to Bruce punching him, and Bruce finds that he doesn't mind nearly as much as he should.A S05E07 fix-it of sorts.





	All for you

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, fellas, welcome! I wanted to keep this short, between 3k-4k, and whaddya know, I succeeded... 
> 
> Dedicated to everyone that checks the Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne tag 20+ times a day because they're thirsty for content: take this shitty, weird, barely-edited porn.  
> ( P.S. Gaythom, if you're reading this, I'm impatiently waiting :))) <3 )
> 
> But, yeah, I'm honestly not happy at all with how this turned out, but I thought I'd post it anyways. Enjoy, I guess,,,

An effervescent, unnatural green hue lit the dim factory. It took a few moments, but Bruce’s eyes had adjusted to the odd lighting enough to land another punch… Directly to Jeremiah’s blood-stained, lipstick-tinted lips. A choked gasp and a noise that sounded suspiciously like a moan were torn from Jeremiah’s throat, his eyelids fluttering momentarily in a way that, in any other situation, would appear erotic. Bruce ignored this, just as he had done with the hissed ‘yes.’ when Jeremiah was pushed down, and every other risque sound that had come from Jeremiah that night. Bruce ignored the gloved hand that was positioned all but between his legs, and the smooth circles that Jeremiah’s thumb drew between strikes. He ignored the way that if he moved his available leg just so, he could feel Jeremiah’s crotch - which, by the way, he could feel much more prominently than he should have - brush teasingly over his slack-clad thigh. 

“Tell me you feel it!” Well, Bruce could certainly feel some things. To which was he referring to? 

Bruce didn’t respond, assaulting Jeremiah’s face with yet another, albeit slightly softer than the previous, blow. Another lewd sound and a roll of hips, plus, a new addition, a tight squeeze to Bruce’s thigh. At this point, there was very little doubt in Bruce’s mind that Jeremiah was getting off to this. Either the pain or the exhilaration, he didn’t know which, but something about this scenario was prurient to the flamboyantly-dressed man beneath him. Another hit, this time a flat palm connecting with a flushed cheek, and Bruce couldn’t simply ignore the grinding once more. 

“You’re disgusting.” Bruce’s tone was cold, stoic, exactly how he had intended. Jeremiah’s response, however, was not what was expected, nor was it quite what was intended. 

“Bruce.” He gasped, grappling for the front of said Bruce’s sweater, pulling the surprised billionaire closer. The hand on his thigh climbed slightly farther upwards, almost entering between-the-legs territory, but not quite. The most unexpected thing that Jeremiah did, though, came in the form of busted, bloodied lips crashing into slightly-chapped, yet otherwise unmarred ones. Jeremiah’s lips were the only ones actually moving, what with Bruce’s immobile in shock; plus, Jeremiah was gone as quickly as he’d appeared. Bruce licked his lips, mostly out of inclination, and the metallic taste of blood, mixed with oddly cherry-flavored lipstick and a hint of bourbon blossomed over his taste buds. 

As soon as he regained his senses, Bruce was in motion again, rapid-succession slaps across each cheek twice. Sharp red handprints faded into existence momentarily, healing inhumanly fast, and Bruce almost felt remorse for the sadistic excitement they brought. The reactions were the same, the only difference being the drag of Jeremiah across Bruce’s leg was slightly more prolonged, resulting in another, even more drawn-out moan.

Bruce’s eyebrow twitched in frustration. How was he supposed to get revenge on this bastard if it brought him even more pleasure than pain? He decided a new approach was in order, and before Jeremiah could even blink, which he really didn’t do often enough, long, slender fingers were entangled in forest-tinted raven locks. Bruce pulled. Jeremiah’s entire head left the rickety metal of the overhang, barely noticing due to the sharp pain tingling over his scalp. Jeremiah’s breath stuttered, a strangled, wheeze-like gasp escaping him, before his skull came crashing against the floor. He groaned, actually sounding somewhat pained for once, and his unfocused eyes blearily stared off towards the ceiling. Bruce was torn between feeling guilty for hurting someone he - not that he would admit this to just anyone - cared about, and feeling accomplished for finally hurting the man that had orchestrated an entire day dedicated to the worst day of the billionaire’s life. 

“You… Do...” Jeremiah mumbled, a blissful smile gracing his lips as he appeared to fight unconsciousness. Had Bruce really been that harsh? 

Jeremiah’s eyes slowly closed, his face beginning to go slack as he was pulled under the waves of what could possibly be a concussion. 

“Jeremiah!” Bruce said forcefully, delivering another slap. Jeremiah’s eyes cracked open again, near-silently and breathlessly giggling. 

“Mm, Bruce, you must really want me alert for this one. Go on, then, give it to me.” Jeremiah, even in his slightly-loopy state, managed to smirk and trail a single finger up Bruce’s thigh. 

And, well, Jeremiah had asked for it, so of course, Bruce would deliver. A punch to the teeth, crimson arising across fight-worn knuckles when a peculiarly sharp canine sunk just a bit too far into the flesh. A tiny, rolling droplet dripped into Jeremiah’s still-open mouth. His pale eyes widened into lucidity, and he seemed to mull over the savor of the liquid before ultimately deciding to tug Bruce into another kiss. This one was open-mouthed, Jeremiah’s blood-coated tongue entering Bruce’s palate. Admittedly, Jeremiah tasted anything but bad, the metallic mixed with the whiskey created an addictive taste that Bruce found himself wanting to get used to. He didn’t pull away this time; instead, Jeremiah’s tongue ran along the soft insides of Bruce’s cheeks and occasionally brushed along Bruce’s tongue in the most taunting way possible. If Bruce hadn’t known Jeremiah for being a shut-in and an introvert, he would have speculated that Jeremiah had done this many times prior. 

Jeremiah only pulled back, a gasp tumbling from his significantly reddened lips, when Bruce’s incisors sunk into his tongue. He took a second to compose himself, deep breaths heaving through his lungs, before even attempting to speak. 

“I’m not sure what that uncultured bitch did when she kissed you, but you’re not exactly supposed to bite someone’s tongue whilst osculting.” Jeremiah chided, his airy tone bordering on mocking. “Though, that’s not to say I particularly minded.” He finished with a cheeky wink, contradictory as ever. Finally, he was gaining more clarity within his muddled brain. 

Bruce fought back the urge to punch the smug expression off of his face, instead of growling ever-so-slightly between clenched teeth. His hands tightened into fists against Jeremiah’s soiled suit jacket before impulsively relaxing.

“Really though, Bruce, I just don’t understand what you saw in her. Isn’t this little exchange all the more merrier than a single second with that street rat?” Jeremiah continued, and this time it was entirely obvious that he was taunting Bruce. Gauging a reaction, perhaps even testing the waters to see how far he could push the billionaire before he snapped. 

‘Snap’ wouldn’t exactly be the correct term for the odd sequence of events that followed, but it was sufficient enough. Predictably, Bruce’s hand went swinging towards Jeremiah’s vulnerable countenance, but right as he went to strike him, the man beneath him squirmed just slightly, his position less than a centimeter away from what it had been. Still, Bruce’s miscalculated hit landed with his index and middle fingers sliding between Jeremiah’s loosely closed, cherry-painted lips. They knocked against Jeremiah’s upper row of teeth, gliding across the pale man’s tongue. 

Before Bruce even had the chance to be mortified, said tongue was swirling and along the sensitive pads of his fingers, and Jeremiah’s hand was firmly holding Bruce’s wrist in place. He bobbed his head slightly, taking the appendages as far as they would go, and Bruce’s fingertips gently hit against Jeremiah’s uvula. He gagged almost imperceptibly, a thin stream of drool dripping lewdly down Bruce’s hand and forearm due to his throat clenching against the intrusion. Bruce could feel rather than hear the gentle rumble of near satisfaction that sounded from Jeremiah’s throat. Bruce wasn’t sure whether to be repulsed or turned-on by the actions and, honestly, by everything that Bruce had learned about Jeremiah’s bedroom fantasies in the past hour alone, he really couldn’t be surprised that this was now being added to the ever-growing list. 

A few motions later, and Bruce found that it wasn’t really necessary to have Jeremiah holding his wrist. Later, he could claim that it had been the chemicals permeating the air fucking with his thought processes. He roughly pried the cold, pale fingers from against his arm, removing his fingers from the warm cavern just to replace them with an additional. Bruce shoved three fingers as far down Jeremiah’s throat as he physically could, absolutely relishing in the tears that sprung to his eyes. 

Of course, Bruce found it to be quickly becoming too warm in the factory. Being close to nuclear chemicals, and all that. It certainly couldn’t have been from having his fingers crammed down Jeremiah - who, judging by his lowered eyelids and the indecent sounds that were currently too muffled to hear, was definitely enjoying himself equally as much, likely more - ‘s throat. 

Suddenly, Bruce pulled his fingers from Jeremiah’s mouth, feigning a disgust that he wasn’t sure he was actually feeling. He wiped the excess saliva over Jeremiah’s sparkly jacket, instead of giving in to temptation and licking the other man’s saliva from his skin. 

“You’re a disgrace.” Another insult came from Bruce’s lips, as sharp and with as much faux revulsion as before. This time, Jeremiah downright whined, hips spasming upwards, and was it so surprising that degradation was the next addition to the aforementioned list? Still, Bruce couldn’t help the shivers that climbed up his spine at the pathetic sound. 

As the evening wore on, Bruce found himself slowly losing his resolve. As sappy as it seemed, Bruce certainly didn’t dislike Jeremiah, as much as he tried to pretend. Plus, it didn’t help that Jeremiah appealed to Bruce’s more sadistic side so easily; who wouldn’t enjoy an attractive man beneath them moaning their name? Again, he could always blame his actions of the chemicals. He didn’t need to take responsibility for any of this.

With that thought heavily clouding his mind, Bruce did something that he told himself that he never would, at least, not since Jeremiah had been affected by the insanity gas. He leaned forward, his lips roughly pressing against Jeremiah’s. The kiss was anything but gentle; Bruce bit Jeremiah’s lower lip, tugging it between his teeth, and Jeremiah’s hands were clutching Bruce’s biceps hard enough to leave little purple bruises. Still, it suited them, and Bruce soon found himself meeting Jeremiah halfway when he would buck his hips desperately. 

“Oh my god, Bruce.” Jeremiah moaned into his mouth, his silky voice muffled by the extra tongue that was currently pressing his own down. Bruce’s hands were settled in dark tresses, fingers trailing through and occasionally tugging entirely too hard at the roots. Jeremiah seemed to do anything but mind the overt harshness, though. He panted and gasped directly into Bruce’s mouth, his breath thick, and warm, and everything that Bruce knew he could get addicted to if he wasn’t very careful. 

“You’re a fucking disaster, Jeremiah.” Bruce groaned in response, leaning away slightly to fumble with the buttons on Jeremiah’s overly-complex ensemble. 

Predictably, Jeremiah let out a hoarse moan, but didn’t move a single muscle. He stayed completely still, waiting for Bruce to undress him, but not offering much aid. When Bruce finally managed to fling all the components of the what seemed to be one-hundred-piece suit to the side, the only movement from Jeremiah was a small shiver at the cold metal pressing against the skin of his exposed back. He simply watched Bruce, his chest heaving as he appeared to try to compose himself.

“Bruce, please.” He whimpered at whisper-volume, his voice wavering. His eyes were wild, desperate, and how could Bruce say no to that tone? 

Still, Bruce wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted, so he just took a gamble at it. He leaned down, beginning to place hot, open-mouthed kisses along the thin column of Jeremiah’s throat. A strangled noise escaped from between clenched teeth, but other than that, Jeremiah didn’t quite seem satiated. Apparently, kisses weren’t what he wanted; perhaps too soft? Instead, he tried sucking. While, yes, Jeremiah did seem to enjoy that quite a bit, it didn’t seem to be quite what he had in mind. 

“More, Bruce, please, more.” He whined, and oh, wasn’t it beyond amusing to hear the typically eloquently-spoken man reduced to slurred single-syllables?

And suddenly it dawned on Bruce. Jeremiah wanted him to touch him. It was the obvious answer, one that Bruce and his impeccable deductive reasoning had completely overlooked. Gradually, Bruce trailed his hand down Jeremiah’s chest, teasingly digging his nails into his hipbone as he went. Jeremiah gasped, back bowing beautifully towards the touch. Bruce undid Jeremiah’s pants also, relieved that he was only wearing one layer besides his boxers. Once most of Jeremiah’s clothes had been shed - hopefully not going too far as to fall into the pit of acid sitting innocuously below - , Bruce could see just how turned on Jeremiah was through his boxers. The shimmery purple fabric had a very prominent dark spot, and, with how tight they were, paired with how hard Jeremiah’s length was, little was left to the imagination. 

Bruce gently cupped him through the material; Jeremiah all but spasmed, hips jerking into the touch and tossing his head side to side with his eyes clenched shut. How he managed to look so fucked-out having not even been touched directly yet, Bruce would never know.

“God, Jeremiah, you’re so desperate, aren’t you?” Bruce emphasized the words with a hard squeeze, and the resulting noise should have been one of pain, but it certainly wasn’t. 

“Please, Bruce. Bruce, I need it, please.” Jeremiah begged, and Bruce would have expected it to have taken much more prompting than that. Jeremiah, being as narcissistic as he was, didn’t seem like the type to immediately resort to begging. 

Bruce gently tugged Jeremiah’s boxers down, watching with complete interest as his cock sprung out of the fabric. The tip was flushed a dark red and glistening with precum as it obscenely smacked against Jeremiah’s abdomen. Bruce loosely wrapped a hand around it, and damn, Jeremiah was so hard that it had to be painful. Jeremiah literally sobbed at the sweet feeling of friction, his thighs and abdominal muscles shaking in a way that signaled that he was already close, after barely a minute of touching.

Of course, to Bruce that simply wouldn’t do. He had come this far; if this was to be his only opportunity to have Jeremiah, he intended to take full advantage. So, after only a couple of steady strokes, Bruce’s hand was gone. 

“N-no, Bruce. Please. Please, Bruce, god, please.” Jeremiah rambled and whined, frantically knotting his hands in Bruce’s sweater. 

“Be patient.” Blunt and to-the-point, Bruce shoved his fingers - which, by the way, were semi-coated in warm precum - to prod at Jeremiah’s lips. “Get them wet.” He commanded.

Jeremiah complied, content to have something in his mouth - though he would have much rather it been Bruce’s cock. He bobbed his head, wishing that they could be replaced with something thicker, heavier, headier. Still, he did his best job to put on a good enough show, making an ordeal of hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard until they hit the back of his throat.

Once Bruce deemed them as sufficiently wet, he brought one down to begin working at Jeremiah’s hole. He worked as quickly as he could before the saliva dried, sliding it in harshly enough to give Jeremiah that spark of pain that Bruce now knew he craved. Jeremiah arched towards the touch, sighing softly. It took a ridiculously short amount of time for Jeremiah to begin begging for more. He weakly ground against the intrusion that just wasn’t stretching him nearly enough. 

Bruce soon added another finger, scissoring them experimentally. He was a bit stunned by how quickly Jeremiah was loosening up. It almost made him believe that Jeremiah had done this hundreds of time… Wait-

“Have you ever done this before?” Bruce asked tersely, and awaited momentarily for a response.

After a few seconds, however, when he still hadn’t received any manner of reply, he realized that he probably wasn’t getting one. Bruce looked over at Jeremiah’s face - because he totally wasn’t watching his own fingers disappear into Jeremiah’s hole, that would be indecent - and his previously steady pace stuttered. Jeremiah’s mouth was slack, a bit of drool spilling from his cherry-red lips. His eyes were clenched closed, his immaculately done eyebrows were furrowed and upturned. He was panting heavily, and the wrecked expression only left when he noticed that Bruce had stopped his ministrations. 

“Bruce?” He mumbled softly, sounding more like his old self than he had in months, shifting under the billionaire’s intense stare. 

“I asked you a question.” He stated gruffly, rapidly thrusting three fingers, now barely lubed, into Jeremiah. 

It felt like a punishment - probably because it was. Jeremiah let out a gasping, sultry moan all the same. With the return of the delicious push and pull of Bruce’s fingers, no matter how dry they were, Jeremiah’s mind was once again reduced to the universal loading symbol. 

“Q-Question?” He breathed, his head swimming in hazy pleasure. 

The pleasure was short-lived, because once again, Bruce’s fingers were gone, leaving him feeling entirely too empty. Next, came the sharp smack across his left cheek. It was so fast and unexpected that he never even saw it coming. He definitely couldn’t complain, though, as the stinging, tingling sensation came in the form of lustful heat pooling in his lower abdomen. 

Bruce scoffed at the fact that he would have to repeat himself, and answered in a much more crude manner, “You’re loose. Do you get fucked often?” The language and general rudeness were things that Bruce definitely wasn’t used to using in his daily speech. The words felt artificial against his tongue, and that made them all the more thrilling to say. 

Bruce rammed his fingers back in as soon as he’d finished speaking. Jeremiah made another undeniably sensual sound, his breath coming in quick, shaky wheezes. As he had made quite obvious, Jeremiah relished in the burn of how stretched three fingers got him. A few loud moans left his lips as Bruce crooked his fingers just right, but he attempted to keep his mind as focused as possible. 

“You… Only you-” He started, cutting himself off with a lascivious sound, before continuing. “Just my fingers and you.” He finished, hips swiveling in slow circles.

“And what did you think about when you fucked yourself on your fingers?” Came the counter. 

“You, Bruce. Only you, always you.” He whined in the most inelegant way possible, thoroughly wrecked. “Enough preparation, need more.” It seemed that half-sentences were all he could muster at the moment; the realization shouldn’t have turned Bruce on as much as it did.

Bruce pulled his fingers out, nimbly unzipping his pants and pulling his embarrassingly hard cock out. Then, he was leaning over Jeremiah, his dick hanging heavily in front of vermillion lips. Jeremiah’s eyes were wide, and before Bruce even had a chance to demand him to do something, anything, an eager mouth was already enveloping him in moist heat. It was Bruce’s turn to groan, but Jeremiah was equally and verbal - perhaps more - as he dipped the tip of his tongue into Bruce’s slit. 

Jeremiah would never admit to how often he had fantasized about this very moment, but rest assured, it was frequent. Soon enough, Bruce was halfway down his throat, the walls flexing tightly around him with a suppressed gag. Jeremiah’s mouth was incredibly hot, and, though he hadn’t received too many blowjobs, Bruce was almost positive that most people weren’t this warm. It was contradictory, really, with how cold Jeremiah’s skin consistently was. The sucking didn’t last long; soon Bruce found himself clawing desperately at Jeremiah’s scalp, hips jerking slightly with every flick of Jeremiah’s (dangerously talented) tongue. 

Reluctantly, Bruce carefully removed himself from Jeremiah, attentively watching as his expression flitted from disappointed to fervent in seconds. A thick strand of precum-infused saliva connected Jeremiah’s lower lip to Bruce’s tip, and it was almost mesmerizing. Why hadn’t they done this sooner, before the insanity gas, and the destruction of an entire city? 

He lined himself up, and Jeremiah spread his long legs impossibly wide. Bruce knew that he had spent his childhood in a circus, but hot damn. Bruce tugged pale legs upward to cross at the ankles behind his shoulders for the best angle he could comprise from a metal floor. He slowly pushed the tip in, being painstakingly careful not to cause any damage with how under-lubed they both were. Still, it took no time at all for Jeremiah to begin thrusting his hips impatiently at the slow pace.

With an indulgent, partly incredulous and partly sadistic smile, Bruce slammed in to the base. Jeremiah did a full-body jolt, and his heels momentarily dug into Bruce’s clothed spine as a drawn-out whine spilled from his lips. Jeremiah’s walls clenched tightly, and Bruce couldn’t help but hiss at the sudden tightness.

“God, Jeremiah.” He groaned, aiming a particularly harsh thrust right to Jeremiah’s prostate. 

Shameless moans and whines filled the air, courtesy of Jeremiah, and an occasional groan joined in. Bruce really shouldn’t have been surprised at how vocal Jeremiah was, the man didn’t ever shut up in day-to-day situations, why should bedroom affairs be any different? Speaking of, Jeremiah’s moans were quickly growing more urgent, his cock leaking steadily against his stomach, and his hole fluttering with each thrust. 

“Please, Bruce, please.” Jeremiah whined, even his speaking tone significantly sharper. 

“Please, what?” Bruce questioned, stifling a groan. He mostly expected a vague answer such as ‘more’, or ‘harder’, but as per usual, Jeremiah managed to surprise him. 

“Ch-choke me.” He whimpered, and really, Bruce shouldn’t have been shocked; he shouldn’t have been shocked, but he was. He was the most shocked, though, at how the tone mixed with the words made his cock twitch inside of Jeremiah. 

Without a second thought, his calloused hands were creeping around Jeremiah’s neck. He applied slight pressure against his trachea, and at long last, Jeremiah was mostly silent. Gasping wheezes still escaped him, sure, but the rushing of his own heartbeat in Bruce’s ears could easily block that out. Tears collected in Jeremiah’s eyes as they rolled back, his tongue lolling ever-so-slightly out of his mouth. Bruce wrapped his available hand around Jeremiah’s cock, stroking synchronized with each thrust. What couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds later, Jeremiah’s back arched impossibly. A wheezing sob escaped his throat, pulsing white spilling in spurts over his chest and stomach. Bruce followed suit, the image of Jeremiah splayed below him like this enough to send him over the edge. He coated Jeremiah’s inner walls in thick white, removing his hands from his throat only to lean over and sink his teeth into the sensitive skin. 

Gradually, they both came back from the waves of euphoria. Bruce gently pulled out, righting his clothes into what he hoped was a tidy fashion. He leaned over, pressing a careful kiss to Jeremiah’s mostly slack lips. Jeremiah seemed to be half-asleep already, because of course, he was the type to pass out immediately after sex. 

“I knew you could feel it…” Jeremiah whispered, barely audible, not even bothering to pry his heavy eyelids open. He muttered something that sounded oddly like ‘you’re my punchline.’, before falling limp under the blanket of exhaustion. This left Bruce in an abandoned chemical factory with a naked, heavily bruised, and thoroughly unconscious Jeremiah. Wouldn’t this be an absolute spectacle if someone walked in?

Still, Bruce mumbled to the silent air, “You mean everything to me.” before heading down the rickety stairs to collect Jeremiah’s strewn articles of clothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooooo... You made it through. Damn, thanks for taking the time to read this garbage. Feel free to leave me hate comments below, I've been mentally preparing, so be brutal :)


End file.
